


The Thrill of the Chase

by MarciaRebafan



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Revenge, Sickness/Care Prompt, Trigger Warning: home invasion, Trigger Warning: violence and abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 05:59:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12788544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarciaRebafan/pseuds/MarciaRebafan
Summary: She saw him – andhesawher– and nothing, he found, had ever felt better than seeing another completely and being seen in return.Of violence, revenge, and shared meals.





	The Thrill of the Chase

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "sickness/care" by electric-couple on tumblr. It strayed from the intended prompt (and from the intended plot), but I hope it still fits, if only loosely. It's also the first time I attempt a Hannibal pov, hopefully I didn't completely butcher it. Kudos and comments make me very happy!

 As the door opened to reveal the bruised, mauled face of Dr. Du Maurier, the intense rush of anger and fierce protectiveness that filled his heart was the last thing Hannibal Lecter expected to feel. Bedelia had been his psychiatrist for years – his _friend_ , and more than that – but he still wasn’t ready for the white hot fury that coursed through his veins at the thought of what she had to endure.

He abhorred the mere idea of a home invasion, and to think of Bedelia alone in that big house with a man who stole from her, threatened her…

It was all he could do not to gather her in his arms right there in the doorway.

“I appreciate the chance to meet you, Dr. Du Maurier,” he said when he found his voice again. Hannibal had seen his fair share of grisly sights – and he had done his fair share of terrible things – but seeing the porcelain face of the woman before him turned blue and purple with bruises had still stunned him more than he could ever explain. “I know this can’t be easy for you.”

“I saw no good reason to reschedule, now that my house is in order again.” Bedelia didn’t let his softness faze her, just as he thought she wouldn’t, but she couldn’t quite hide the way she seemed to favor her right side as she walked, or the wince of pain as she sat down in her usual chair. Nor could she hide the flash of fear in her eye – the one that wasn’t swollen shut – as a cloud passed over the house and briefly obscured her pristine living room.

“I am concerned,” Hannibal began without preamble after a brief moment of slightly uncomfortable silence.

“About Will Graham?”

The fact that his patient-turned-protégé  was her first thought should have pleased him, yet Hannibal found that unreasonable anger rising within him again. “As a matter of fact, doctor, I am concerned about you.” The words came out harsher than he intended, and he watched Bedelia's disfigured features harden with anger of her own. “I am concerned with your well-being,” he amended.

“My well-being should not concern you, Hannibal. I am fine,” she replied stiffly, with the air of a woman who was doing her best not to shout in utter frustration.

“What you have been through,” Hannibal continued as if she had never spoken at all, “It would be an ordeal for anyone. You need to talk about it, doctor, and I believe you shouldn’t be alone, not until the culprit is apprehended.”

“I appreciate your advice, Hannibal, but I am forced to remind you once again about our roles in this room; I am your psychiatrist, you are not mine.” Bedelia’s voice was supposed to chill him, but it hardly redirected his interest at all.

Nevertheless, Hannibal conceded with a polite nod of his head, and for the rest of the hour he pretended to focus entirely on himself and on what his therapist believed were his feelings towards his protégé. Only when they moved to the kitchen – spotless and immaculate, perhaps too much so – for their customary bottle of wine, did he broach the subject again.

“Did you know him?” He asked delicately, reaching out with his long, well manicured fingers to brush the bruise on her cheek.

Bedelia didn’t shy from his touch, a testament to the shift in their relationship now that they took off their masks – or some of them, at the very least.

“No,” she answered somewhat hoarsely, and the sip of wine she took was certainly meant to mask her unease. “I had never seen him before. He was just – here,” she shrugged slightly. “I walked into my room and there he was, raiding my jewelry box.”

“And your gun?” Hannibal knew she had one somewhere in the house. He had smelled the gunpowder on her fingertips one afternoon, when their session had ended with _much more_ than a glass of wine.

Bedelia brushed her knuckle over her bruised, cut cheekbone and smiled bitterly. “I tried to reach for it. He didn’t approve.”

Silence stretched between them, both lost in painful thoughts of violence. Bedelia, he noticed when he looked at her more carefully, had a ferocious light in her eyes he had only glimpsed briefly before.

Back then, he thought she had never been more beautiful; clearly, he was wrong.

“Did he…?” He asked at last, swallowing softly as he met her gaze and held it.

Her jaw clenched visibly, the hand around the wine glass shaking almost imperceptibly. “He didn’t. But it makes no difference.” She felt violated, fragile, _broken_ , and Hannibal knew how much she disliked the perceived weakness that accompanied those feelings.

He couldn’t stand to let it pass, to see her shatter while the man who caused all this was still free.

 

* * *

 

 

Two weeks later, when he knocked at her door with a covered silver platter balanced on his hand, Hannibal fully expected the wave of fierce protectiveness that filled his heart at the sight of Bedelia Du Maurier, and he expected the satisfaction of knowing she was finally avenged. The bruises were fading from her face, barely noticeable under the masterly applied make-up, and she was more beautiful than ever.

“Good evening, doctor,” he greeted affably, walking in when she stepped aside. “I am so glad you have accepted my proposal. I was devastated when you rejected my invitation.”

“You know I do not enjoy the spectacular social engagements you call dinner parties, Hannibal,” she replied, not without humor, as she led him to the kitchen. “You are the social butterfly I could never hope to be.”

“Fair enough,” Hannibal smiled. “Still, I’m glad you allowed me to bring to you a delicacy I did not serve at the party. This one is a special recipe I made just for you.”

“Oh?” Despite the innocence of her tone, Bedelia’s eyes strayed to the silver dome with an eagerness that fully betrayed her. She knew exactly what he had prepared for her, yet all he could see in her eyes was hunger, power, and satisfaction.

She would feast on the meat he brought her and be stronger for it, like a warrior queen eating the flesh of her enemies; like a goddess swallowing whole the mortal who dared to defy her.

“Wild hog,” Hannibal offered, lifting the dome with a flourish after he placed the platter on the table, perfectly in the middle. The roses he had carefully selected to decorate the platter seemed to complement her pale skin and deep red blouse perfectly, and he found his aesthetic sense deeply appeased by the sight, as well as by the glint of wickedness in her blue eyes as he served the perfectly cooked meal and she cut into the meat.

“As dangerous as it is delicious,” she commented with blatant approval, staring into his eyes. “Did you hunt this one yourself?”

“Of course. I believe we have spoken of how I enjoy the thrill of the chase.”

“We did,” Bedelia smiled, brushing her fingers over the petals of one rose as she put her glass back on the table. “I hope this particular chase proved entertaining.” And when her eyes met his once more, Hannibal was sure that she knew, and that he had successfully restored the order in her world again.

She saw him – and _he_ saw _her_ – and nothing, he found, had ever felt better than seeing another completely and being seen in return.

 

* * *

 

 

THE END


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